


Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart

by WinterFir



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Cares About Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier needs to talk about his problems more, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, My firstborn fic, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, good kind of drama, graveyard action, just life drama, not romantic drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25789792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterFir/pseuds/WinterFir
Summary: "Jaskier knows that most people wouldn’t follow a Witcher around no matter how brave they were, but Jaskier wasn’t most people, and ever since that day in Posada, he’d felt a connection to the white wolf. "
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 198





	Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PersonyPepper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/gifts).



Jaskier knows that most people wouldn’t follow a Witcher around no matter how brave they were, but Jaskier wasn’t most people, and ever since that day in Posada, he’d felt a connection to the white wolf. 

Geralt was handsome. There was no doubt about that, but he wasn’t human, a fact that was clear once one looked at him, with his white hair, golden eyes, the swords— the two very big and very sharp swords. And the little details that Jaskier hadn’t noticed in Posada but had come to discover while following Geralt on The Path, like the fangs that Geralt would file down before going into town to look for a contract, the nails that are pointer looking than a normal human and the capability to eat raw meat. 

By all accounts Jaskier shouldn’t be following a person like that around, he was meant to be the Viscount de Lettenhove and he was one of the best students to ever grace the halls of Oxenfurt if he could say so for himself, Valdo Marx was a mere cockroach when compared to the grandeur of the great Jaskier the White wolf’s Bard!

But the bard stayed despite the smell of onion and death and the lack of answers to his questions (because, despite what Geralt may believe, grunts aren’t sentences or answers). He stays because something about the witcher makes him want to stay and it wasn’t only his good looks or the kind heart he had under all the hard exterior. 

It was a steady humming in the back of his mind, a song that only he could hear when he stood next to Geralt— it wasn’t gentle or melodic like the songs he composed on his precious lute it was more like a storm brewing in the horizon, a quiet and ominous sound but beautiful in its own way.

It would grow louder when Geralt went on a hunt, and the connection between the two would get tighter almost like there was a string connecting them, a few times Jaskier had started to follow it, his feet carrying him after his White Wolf, his mind lost in the humming but he always caught himself— and when he didn’t Geralt would turn around with eyes gleaming in the dark, fangs bared and a scowl that would terrify a lesser man. And so Jaskier would stay behind in their camp, in the inn they had chosen to spend the night or by Roach’s side, but his mind would always be too far away for him to focus and compose or sing with his usual joy. 

Once he had visited an old witch to understand what was happening, but as soon as she did whatever gibberish she considered magic, she had cast him out screaming and telling him to never return. Considering that the witch looked as old as dust and had a spine so curved that she was perpetually looking at the ground, the bard didn’t worry about the reaction, attributing it to the rambles of a mad old charlatan.

He was fine, Geralt was no longer trying to get rid of him or convince him to stay with other humans and his career was growing and flourishing, so what if there was a humming in his head and the urge to follow Geralt into hunts. He was fine.

_ Famous.  _

_ Last.  _

_ Words. _

  
  
  


It all starts when they reach a small town in the middle of nowhere. One moment they’re crossing some woods, Geralt on Roach and Jaskier following behind while enjoying the smell of spring and the birds chirping along with the tune he was playing, and next, the humming gets higher, like a whistle, an arrow shot into the void and at the same time they see the first houses.

Geralt dismounts and starts to lead Roach toward the center of the small town in the hopes of finding a contract and a place at the local inn, but Jaskier stays frozen at the edge of the town. He can no longer hear the birds and his fingers’ve stopped dancing along the strings— all he could hear was the humming. Except it was no longer like a song but a whisper, a continuous sound of whispering words he couldn’t decipher.

Geralt, noticing that the bard wasn’t following, stopped and turned around. “What is it this time? Put your sausage in the wrong pantry in this town, too?” 

Like a spell being broken, the humming stopped as quickly as it had begun. “I was merely admiring the sight of such a lovely little town and wondering if at last we will be able to bath, poor Roach must be tired of smelling onion,” he said. He ignored the barb on his integrity and cast a pointed look in Geralt’s direction, who was smelling a little rank after four days of traveling through and sleeping in the woods. 

Geralt didn’t smile, but he looked amused as he turned around and started to walk, knowing that the bard would follow. 

In the center of the town they found an inn and while Geralt went to put Roach in the stables, Jaskier went in and asked for accommodations and a meal for both. The pretty girl behind the bar, spotting the lute asked in an excited voice, “Are you a bard? Can you sing us a song?”

Jaskier smiled, a real smile in the face of such joy, “Why of course milady! Tonight, I shall give you the best performance you have ever seen,” he said while taking one step back and bowing dramatically to the young girl.

“I’m no lady, Master Bard. I’m only Lyra, the cook’s daughter, she giggles, amused by bard’s tactics, “But if your performance is truly that good, maybe I can convince my mother to not charge you for the meal!”

“A fine offer and an excellent motivation for tonight’s performance!” Jaskier said, grinning.

As the girl excused herself to go tell her mother about the deal she had struck, Jaskier turned and spotted Geralt already sitting in a corner of the room. Feeling a sense of deja vu, Jaskier crossed the room to sit on the bench on the opposite side of the table, mimicking their first reunion back in Posada. 

“Got us a room and maybe a free meal if all goes well. And you? Any monsters that need killing?” he asked with a soft smile.

Geralt nodded, “A ghoul. I’ll handle it tonight,” he said while keeping his eyes on the rest of the room.

Jaskier follows one of the table wood grains with his finger while he listens, “Oh, is that the ugly one that eats people?” he asked, he had never seen one since Geralt didn’t let him go on hunts, but he had heard descriptions of the beast. One particularly memorable time, he had seen what was left of a corpse of a man after he’d gotten attacked by a young ghoul, a sight he wishes he could erase from his memory.

Geralt, who was preparing to answer, tensed and curled his finger so that his nails wouldn’t be visible when Lyra approached their table with their meal, only relaxing a little bit when she left. However, he didn’t pick the conversation where it had been left, choosing instead to focus on the food.

It wasn’t much, a watery rabbit stew with little to no rabbit and some sad vegetables that had been tossed into a pan with no seasoning, as far as meals go Jaskier would count this one among the blandest and saddest ones he has ever tasted but it would be free of charge one he began playing, so he ate without a complaint. There was also the advantage of not having to watch Geralt tearing the rabbit while it was still raw, although Jaskier could appreciate the fangs in the rare occasions where Geralt smiled without caring about keeping them hidden, watching them at work tearing through flesh and muscle was a little off-putting. Not at all because the bard had very vivid thoughts of those fangs on his neck, in a more  _ delicate _ way, no way. 

“I suppose me coming along would be out of the question then, no?” Jaskier asked as he broke the loaf of bread in half, he knew the answer would probably be no but he still had to try.

Geralt looked up from his meal frowning, the answer clear in his face.

“Honestly, how do you expect me to write songs of your bravery if you never let me come along? You’re terrible at describing what happened! Saying that the monster was a Kimi…kiki…Kikimara and that you stabbed it is not enough!” Jaskier said, launching into the familiar discussion that would surface occasionally, hoping that this time he’d win.

Geralt looked mildly amused as he answered, “It’s Kikimora, Jaskier not Kikimara,” he said, relaxing a bit more in his seat. “And it’s too dangerous, you make too much noise and I can’t be distracted.”

Jaskier should probably felt insulted that his capability of being sneaky was being questioned in such a blatant way, but seeing Geralt’s expression and the soft wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and hinted at a concealed smile he couldn’t muster more than, “Still, would it kill you to add some detail to your descriptions when you return?”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, still looking amused, golden eyes trained on the bard. “It’s a ghoul, it looks like a deformed human with a hunchback, teeth sharp as a blade and a skeleton nose. It smells like death and rotten flesh.”

“Oh,” feeling unexpectedly overwhelmed, Jaskier was without words. He knew that what Geralt did was dangerous, fighting monsters wasn’t for the faint of heart, but in the face of that brief description and the memory of that poor man’s body all those years ago, Jaskier felt fear for his friend. He didn’t want to lose Geralt, he knew that the witcher was strong and fast but still, accidents could happen. “But you can handle it, right? You will be fine—“

“Finish eating or your meal will grow cold. You said you would perform tonight; I’ll be back by the time you finish,” Geralt interrupted without looking away from the bard’s concerned face.

Jaskier nodded and returned to his meal, he swallowed a bit of stew, hard, trying to ignore the weight in his chest that had appeared at the thought of Geralt dying. 

Once the meal was finished they went up to their room, putting his trusty lute on top of the bed near the window, Jaskier sat down at the end of the bed and watched Geralt prepare one of his horrible concoctions on the little wooden table. It was a good room, bigger than others they had stayed in before, the sheets looked clean and the bed was soft; it sure made up for the disappointing meal. 

Shuffling around on the bed, Jaskier reached out for his lute to check if it was tuned properly; it was, after all, he couldn’t bear to go a day without tuning Filavandel’s precious gift. His lute was truly a work of art, beautiful in its design and sound— most days Jaskier would be playing around the tavern before a performance to warm up, he would feel the excitement build at the thought of singing his songs to an audience that may appreciate them, but today, he could focus on his lute.

There was a weight in his chest, pressing down on his lungs, an itch in the back of his throat, he felt like he was ready to run for miles without stopping but at the same time he felt frozen in place, unable to turn away from watching Geralt preparing for the hunt.

The humming that had been softer until this point was getting louder, not like before where it had changed all at once, no, it was a steady crescendo. Like a ballad picking up strength until it could reach its peak. The whispering was back too, but Jaskier still couldn’t understand any words, he thought about calling out to Geralt to tell him what was happening, to stop him from going out. But he couldn’t, looking at Geral picking up the silver sword coated in the oil he had prepared, he found himself unable to say that there was something wrong. 

After all, if he did and Geralt stayed behind people could die and then Geralt would blame himself, all because Jaskier was selfish and was making up silly things in his head.

No, the bard decided, it was all in his head. If it were anything serious Geralt would feel it too, and in all the years they have been together Geralt had never shown any sign of feeling the connection or hearing any weird sounds as Jaskier did. So everything was fine, Jaskier was fine, it was all in his head, the old witch had been a charlatan and her reaction had nothing to do with what was happening. 

But the feeling in his chest didn’t go away, nor did the humming or the itch in the back of his throat as he watched Geralt walk towards the door with only a nod in his direction. 

  
  


Geralt knew that the bard was acting weird, he always got in a strange mood when it was time for the witcher to go on a hunt. His eyes would get a distant look to them like he was lost in thought, and he would fidget around more than usual. Over the years Geralt got used to the strange mood that took over the bard, but today, he seemed worse than usual. 

He thought about asking what was wrong, but the bard usually was the first to announce when something was bothering him without any prompting necessary. It was most likely that Jaskier was feeling tired after four days of traveling and sleeping in the woods, but they had been low on coin; as much as Geralt would like to take care of Jaskier by having them stay in an inn, without a contract it had been impossible. 

The last few villages also hadn’t been happy to have a mutant around them, much less have one stay the night, Jaskier also hadn’t been able to make any coin since the people didn’t care to waste coin on a bard that willingly followed the Butcher of Blaviken around. 

Things like those made the witcher think that it would be better for the bard to leave him, to go back to Oxenfurt but at the same time, he had gotten used to having the bard around. With all his easy smiles and laughter, with his joy and songs; it was nice having Jaskier around. Brave little Jaskier who never smelt of fear, even when seeing Geralt after hunts— blood on his hands, black eyes, and pale face with dark veins— he never judged Geralt for his appearance or eating habits. Instead, he would just go on talking about whatever was on his mind.

So, it was a little disconcerting to see Jaskier get up from the bed and cross the room in a hurry, his eyes wild. “Don’t get distracted,” he said, with a raspy voice.

Geralt stared at him, but before he could form a reply, Jaskier took a step back and blinked at him, his eyes taking that faraway look. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassment coating his scent but his voice still sounded dry. “Be safe. I’ll wait for you, okay?”

Geralt nodded, feeling warmed by Jaskier's concern. Whoever had said that witchers can’t feel was full of shit, although it would have certainly made Geralt’s life easier if he was unable to feel anything towards Jaskier. 

Jaskier had no idea of what had just happened, one moment he was sitting on the bed watching Geralt leave and the next he was standing in front of the witcher, giving him some sort of warning. The words had just flown out of his mouth without the bard being able to stop them like he had done in previous occasions when he felt the need to open his mouth and say something even if he had no words in his head to say. But this time the need was stronger, and it had overwhelmed him. 

The door closed behind Geralt, and now alone in the room, Jaskier felt once again the pressure on his lungs increase and the need to run after the witcher. But he didn’t, he forced himself to turn his back on the door and walk back to the bed where he had left his lute, he sat down, grabbed his lute, and stared out of the window, unable to play. He saw Geralt depart towards the town’s graveyard with Roach walking by his side, he watched them until he couldn’t see them anymore.

Night was falling fast and he should probably return downstairs to perform, but it felt like he was chained in that position, staring out of the window at the approaching darkness, while the whispering in his head got louder.

Finally, he got up with his lute in hand and walked to the door and down the stairs, his footsteps heavy as if he was marching towards a necklace of rope instead of his next performance. Little Lyra smiled when she saw him and he tried to return her happiness in kind, but the muscles on his face were stiff and he probably ended up grimacing more than smiling. Still Lyra didn’t show any signs of annoyance, her eyes were sparkling with joy, and the big smile remained on her face. 

Jaskier didn’t want to play, he wanted to run after Geralt, he wanted to leave this town, find a nice little place in the woods, and fall asleep next to the witcher while staring at the fire and hearing Roach enjoy the fresh grass nearby. But Lyra and the patrons were all staring at him expectantly, so he unclenches his jaw, forces himself to relax, and starts to play a happy tune. In the beginning, the music seemed to drown out the humming, and while his throat still felt odd and the anxiety remained, it wasn’t as hard to dance around the room and give a few smiles to the ladies that were watching.

He must have been on his fourth song when suddenly he stopped playing. He could see the patrons talking and laughing but he couldn't hear any of that, his mind was filled with whispers telling him to  _ go _ , to  _ move _ , to  _ find Geralt. _

Like a puppet on strings, Jaskier let go of the lute and walked towards the door of the inn. It was a cold spring night but he didn’t feel the breeze, neither the darkness nor the silence fazed him, nor did the silence that seemed to take over the streets, even if one could see the lights coming from different houses. It was if the world had been plunged underwater; any sound coming from behind closed doors was distorted. 

But he walked, all the way towards the graveyard. Roach was outside the main gate, she nickered when he got close but he didn’t stop like he usually would do; instead, he kept going past the gates and into the graveyard. It was silent, the same otherworldly silent that had taken over the town’s streets. 

He couldn’t see Geralt, in fact, he couldn’t see much, it was too dark. The moon was hiding behind clouds and the little light that reached the earth wasn’t enough to cut through the shadows that the mausoleums were casting.

The whispering had gotten more intense, like a choir chanting in his ear, there were some disconnected words he could hear, telling him to go, to walk, to run, to escape. It was making him feel trapped, his throat itching and his jaw clenching harder than before. 

He walked, trying to find Geralt, all he needed to do was find Geralt. Everything was going to be fine; he would tell Geralt everything, and they would find out what was happening. Geralt would find a solution, he always did. 

Suddenly a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him behind one of the tombs, Jaskier breathed in deep, ready to yell for help, but a hand covered his mouth right before he did. In the low light he saw two bright yellow eyes staring at him and relaxed.

“Jaskier, what the fuck are you doing here?” Geralt’s voice was practically a growl, deep and low. “I told you that it was too dangerous.”

Jaskier couldn’t answer since Geralt had yet to remove his hand. Even if he wanted to answer, he wouldn’t be able to, for in that moment, an inhuman sound was heard muffled but it was enough to scare Jaskier and make his skin crawl. 

“Stay here,” Geralt orders, unsheathing his sword and moving into the dark, leaving Jaskier behind.

  
  


Geralt moved silently towards the source of the noise, a mausoleum that looked slightly newer than the rest with an iron gate that was unlocked. From inside, a raspy high-pitched sound could be heard along with the sound of stone being moved.

The inside was dark and the air was heavy. In the centre of the mausoleum laid a stone tomb, whose top was slowly being moved, inch by inch. Fingers emerged from within, with long dirty claws, they grabbed hold of the side of the stone cover and pushed it open.

Geralt waited until a long-limbed creature jumped from the inside of the tomb.

It wasn’t a ghoul, but it had the same scent of death clinging to it. It had the body of a woman with her throat slashed open, dressed in a dirty white dress, limbs longer than normal; it was thin with a skeletal head, from which long grey hair fell down covering half of its face, but not enough to hide the glowing pearly eyes nor the mouth darkened with blood.

It tries to swipe at Geralt with its claws, but he dodges, going back toward the exit so he would have more room to fight whatever that creature was. 

It was fast and quickly followed behind, trying to attack, while doing so it continued to make high pitch noise, like it was trying to scream but was unable to because of the open wound on its neck. Geralt attacked with the silver sword, managing to land a hint near the creature's shoulders, the wound let out black blood and the edges burned from the silver. The creature let out an inhuman sound that made Geralt’s ears ring and then it attacked, sinking claws in the witcher armor and throwing him on the ground with the strength of the hit. 

The air rushed out of Geralt’s lungs and his sword fell from his grip landing far away from . Before he could recover from the fall, the creature jumped on top of him, raising his arms to stop it from getting close to his neck. Geralt couldn’t get to his sword nor could he dislodge the creature.

Jaskier tried to stay hidden for as long as he could, but as soon as Geralt left whatever relief he had gained from being close to his witcher disappeared, and the urge to move returned. But he forced himself to stay, to not move. He just stood there and listened, feeling the pressure increasing, his breath coming out faster and shallower, his throat was dry and itchy His jaw ached from being clenched and he felt like he was trembling all over. 

All around him there were whispers, coming deep from the ground underneath his feet, echoing in the stone walls; they were in the wind, begging, crying, asking for help, asking  _ why _ . Jaskier didn’t know why he didn’t know these voices, he didn’t want them, he didn’t want to be here, all he wanted was the little place in the woods with Geralt and Roach and the gentle humming in his head. He didn’t want this pain and sorrow that coated every whisper.

So he moved, he moved to Geralt. Geralt who smelt like onion and death; the white wolf, his friend, Geralt would help him. Geralt would silence the voices and everything would be fine. A sob made its way to his throat, and his eyes burned with tears. He would find Geralt and they would leave, they had to leave. They had to leave  _ now. _

The more he moved the louder everything got, the whispers, the inhuman high-pitched sound, it made him want to cry. The air was heavy, it felt like there were hands reaching out and trying to pull him back, pull him forth, drag him under.

Finally, he saw Geralt pinned underneath a woman-like creature slashing at him with claws, trying to rip his throat with its teeth. It appears to have sensed the bard’s presence so it looked up with its pearly eyes and it’s darkened mouth.

And Jaskier screamed.

It was a horrible sound, bloodcurdling and deafening, but Jaskier couldn’t stop. He just keeps screaming even as Geralt dislodged the creature and severed its head after getting hold of his sword. There were tears in his face but he couldn’t stop, just like he couldn’t open his eyes and see the creature on top of Geralt ready to kill him.

But then he heard.

“Jaskier. Jaskier, stop.”

It was Geralt. The screaming stopped and Jaskier opened his eyes. Geralt was standing right in front of him, white hair shining in the moonlight and bright yellow eyes staring at him, he was holding his bloody sword on one hand and the other was reaching out toward Jaskier cheek to wipe his tears away. Jaskier felt drained, and his head was too heavy so he leaned toward Geralt until he could rest his head on the Witcher’s shoulder.

“What was that? What is wrong with me?” Jaskier's voice came out creaky from all the screaming but there was also a hint of panic.

Geralt laid a comforting hand on the back of the bard’s head and breathed in his scent, Jaskier smelt like he always did, sunny and flowery but there was a bitter tone of stress and fear mixed in. A banshee.

His bard was a banshee, a harbinger of Death, not much was known about them and his medallion would never detect one since they were humans despite everything. Pulling back, Geralt looked at Jaskier, assessing if the other was injured in any way. Jaskier was no longer crying, but he still looked pretty shaken. 

“Nothing’s wrong with you, little lark,” Geralt said softly, while gently he began leading the bard away and towards Roach. “Come, you need rest. Tomorrow we will talk.”

Jaskier fell asleep as soon as they got back to their room and only woke up when the sun was already high. By then, Geralt had already cleaned up and gotten some breakfast for them, which they ate in silence.

“So, what was that thing last night? What is wrong with me?” Jaskier asked with a slightly nervous tone. “You said it was nothing, but that wasn’t nothing. There were whispers, and my throat was itching and all I wanted to do was scream. And every time I’m near you there is this humming-“

“A banshee. You’re banshee,” answered Geralt, reaching out with his hand towards one of Jaskier to calm him down.

“I…I don’t know what that is. Am I a monster?” he asked, not looking at Geralt.

“No, of course not. Banshees are harmless, they don’t go out of their way to hurt people most of the time, they are harbingers of Death. They can sense a person’s death or impending death, they feel drawn to places where death has occurred,” explained Geralt.

“You said most of the time, that means that there is a time when banshees hurt people,” pointed out Jaskier, feeling himself becoming agitated at the thought that he was some sort of monster, drawn to death.

“The creature from last night was once a banshee. It’s likely that she was killed because of her abilities and came back as some sort of Wraith, to seek revenge on those she thought had wrong her. Banshees are feared by some people and hated by others, usually, people close to them angered by the fact that their death is near or that the Banshee can’t tell them when their deaths will occur. But that won’t happen to you, Lark. I’ll keep you safe”, the witcher promised, scooting closer until their thighs were pressed together. 

Jaskier fidgets around until he works up the courage to look Geralt in the eyes. The witcher was looking at him patiently and with a soft look on his face, and so Jaskier let himself trust the promise. Leaning into the witcher, Jaskier relaxed for real for the first time since they left the woods and arrived in town.

“I still want to leave. We should take the money and leave today,” The bard said, after all, if someone in town had killed that woman because she was a Banshee, he wouldn’t be welcome to stay much longer.

“Hmm, maybe we should head to the coast”, suggested Geralt with a smile, while he curled his arm around his lark in a hug.

The coast sounded perfect, thought Jaskier. They would leave town today, camp in the woods, and then make their way to the coast together. He would use the journey to ask Geralt for more information about what he was and what he could do, he would learn how to control this and everything was going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I hope you all enjoyed the story, let me know what you think but be gentle!! This is my first proper fic, so don't come at me with pitchforks...pleaseeeee
> 
> I also need to thank the fantastic human being that is PersonyPepper, Peps inspired me to write this whole mess and beta it for me: SO THANK YOU LOVE!!!! And let me gift my firstborn fic to you, it's not the best fic ever but it's my first!
> 
> The title came from the song Howl by Florence and the Machine


End file.
